The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(61)

‘Did you see his face?’ Deborah cut through his words. ‘The kidnapper . . . did you speak to him?’

‘No, he was wearing some kind of mask. I took the drink and he hung up. Should I believe him? He’s not given Ellen back.’

‘Have you called the police?’ Deborah held her breath as she awaited his response.

‘He told me not to. Do you think I should?’ Stuart’s voice broke as he emitted a whimper of despair. ‘What should I do? I want my boy back.’

‘Just do as he says,’ Deborah replied in hushed tones. Feeling like an ant under a microscope, she rubbed the base of her neck. Every inch of her body ached – a side effect of being permanently tense.

‘I tried ringing Dr Curtis,’ Stuart said. ‘Seems like he’s washed his hands of us all.’

‘Do you blame him?’ Deborah struggled to catch her breath. ‘His wife almost died.’

‘Exactly. We’re dealing with a killer. Luka is alive. He’s coming for us all.’

‘Luka is dead,’ Deborah snapped, feeling a build-up of pressure in her chest. Her breath tight, she leaned against the wall, willing her heart rate to slow down.

‘Mum?’ Max called from the kitchen. He opened the door and poked his head through. ‘Oh. Sorry, I thought you were off the phone.’

‘It’s work,’ she mouthed, rolling her eyes in irritation. ‘Be with you in a sec.’ In his hands was a takeaway leaflet from the deli she had mentioned. She clasped a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. ‘Order my usual. Use my card, it’s in my handbag on the side.’

Flashing her a smile, Max withdrew into the kitchen and quietly closed the door. She was so lucky to have him – which is why she had to keep him safe.

Stuart’s voice came like an irritant down the phone. ‘I’m going out of my mind here. What will I do?’

‘Go home. I gave the police your address. They’ll be visiting you soon enough.’

‘But . . . the kidnapper said not to call them. Why did you do that?’

‘Because they wouldn’t bloody well leave me alone!’ Deborah spat the words. ‘Stick to the story and we’ll be fine. I’ve got to go.’ A wave of dizziness overcame her as she hung up the phone. She felt queasy, adrift on the deck of a ship with no captain to steer it. Goodness knows how she was going to eat. Her past was clawing for her attention and would not be ignored. She thought of her son, how he would feel if he knew the truth. No matter how much she tried, nothing could make up for her misdemeanours. She had done an unspeakable thing.





CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

‘Sorry, ma’am, have you got a second?’ Molly caught Amy on her way to her office.

‘Sure,’ Amy said, staring at the tropical plant drooping in the corner. It had seen better days. She sniffed, catching sight of a tea bag sticking out of the soil. ‘Who’s been feeding it tea?’

‘Not me.’ Molly smiled, looking younger than her twenty-nine years. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her freckles were on show. Amy listened intently as she took a breath to speak.

‘It’s about Dr Curtis. I didn’t want to mention it during briefing as I was waiting to hear back from children’s social care.’

‘What have you got?’ Amy replied.

Much of the briefing had been about Luka, and they had debated whether he was still alive. Her team had mixed reactions and the doctor was not off the hook yet.

‘Curtis was a psychologist, but he had a licence to practise as a psychiatrist too. I looked it up, more out of nosiness than anything else, ’cos I didn’t know the difference between the two.’ Her tongue darted out of her mouth as she licked her lips. The habit came into play when she was excited about something. ‘Anyway, it’s unusual for someone to practise both. A psychologist can’t prescribe medication, but a psychiatrist can. That got me wondering if Dr Curtis had prescribed drugs to the kids in his care.’

Amy’s interest was piqued. ‘And social care? How could they help?’

‘They said that Ellen was on medication – Zitalin. It’s big in the US and was hugely popular here in the early nineties. Lots of kids are prescribed it to help with their studies.’ Her eyes shone with the discovery. ‘I rang Curtis’s first wife, Shirley Baker, put the question to her and . . . guess what? Her kids were on Zitalin too – but as soon as she divorced Dr Curtis, they came off the drug.’

Amy smiled at Molly’s ability to think outside the box. ‘Good job. So that’s what she meant about them being lab rats. Curtis is due to answer bail soon, isn’t he?’ Further interviews were allowed, as long as earlier questions weren’t repeated.

Molly nodded, still smiling. The tiniest words of encouragement could make her day.

‘Re-interview him when he comes in,’ Amy said. ‘I don’t think we’ll have enough to extend his bail but it gives us something new to offer the CPS.’ Given Luka was now in the frame, it was unlikely that the Crown Prosecution Service would advise a charge for Dr Curtis, but the theory about children at the institute being drugged would give them food for thought. ‘Also,’ Amy said, tapping her chin, ‘request further intelligence on his finances. His wealth came from somewhere, and it wouldn’t surprise me if one of the big pharmaceutical companies wasn’t funding his studies back then. You say that Shirley was acting shifty. It makes me wonder if someone is blackmailing them.’